


Best Laid Plans

by reve_silencieux



Category: White Collar
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-11 22:43:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7073488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reve_silencieux/pseuds/reve_silencieux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal really, <i>really</i>, wanted this day to be over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best Laid Plans

“Get him!” came a shout across the cavernous warehouse.

Neal didn’t bother to look over his shoulder to see how many thugs were following him as he skidded around a corner and ran down a narrow corridor. He was more of a glass half full kind of guy, so he wasn’t one to discourage himself before a job was even done.

Of course, Mozzie would say knowledge is power or something to that effect, and while Neal would normally agree, he really just wanted to get out without a souvenir that sent him to a hospital. And maybe, he was also ( _a little_ ) partial to this suit. Hopefully, since he’d not so subtly said his take down phrase a few moments ago, Peter and his team would be barging in soon and he wouldn’t have to worry about said souvenir.

However, he could hear the heavy footfalls of his pursuers getting closer and realized that he wasn’t going to make it to the exit on the far side of the warehouse. They probably should have planned this a little better. But they hadn’t expected their suspect to realize that the forged emerald was a fake so quickly. He’d have to tell Moz that he was starting to lose his touch.

He ducked through a door that led to one of the offices. There were a row of windows lining the far wall. Unfortunately, this was an old warehouse, and they were small and narrow, _not_ the kind Neal would have preferred to jump out of. But he had no other choice, and he’d been through tighter scrapes.

He jostled a few window latches until he found one that would open, pushed at the bottom and reflexively ducked his head as it swung out and the top rocked back towards him. He glanced out, noting the three foot drop and was thankful they were on the first floor. Finding purchase on the small ledge, he stuck his head out and started to wiggle his way through the small opening, moving his hands to the outside wall to get better leverage to push his way out. With a sinking feeling, he quickly realized the window was smaller than it looked, and tried to move his shoulders in such a way that he could squeeze through.

The sound of loud voices reached him and he swore, fervently pushing harder. After what seemed like forever, he finally managed to get his shoulders through. Not without feeling the scrape of the old metal window frame, sadly, and the knowledge that his suit was ruined. He pulled his upper body through the window, then found his hips stuck. A mental picture of Winnie the Pooh came to mind, distressingly enough. Neal would never live it down. As the voices and footsteps got louder and he heard doors opening, he knew his time was nearly up. It was now or never. 

Taking one last deep breath, he gave the wall one last push and nearly wept in relief as his hips cleared the window, just as the office door opened and one guy yelled. A gunshot rang out and a flash of heat tore through his backside right before he tumbled out the window. Instinct, rather than his normal grace, took over, and he ducked his head and rolled onto the ground. 

The window clattered shut after him and he looked up quickly to see if they would try to follow. Not that they could—he’d barely gotten through, and as Peter liked to remind him, he was definitely thinner than the average guy. And he knew without a doubt, that they were not as svelte as he was. But they could easily shoot him again, so he tried to drag himself to his knees, only to feel a searing pain. He curled up instinctively and gasped at the pain shooting through him, and realized with a sinking clarity—he’d been shot in the butt. 

He’d really never live this down.

“Neal!” Diana’s voice called out and he saw her running towards him, followed by two more agents.

_Wonderful_ , he thought miserably. More witnesses.

“Are you okay? Anything broken?” she asked, concerned, once she reached his side.

Obviously she’d seen his less than elegant fall but didn’t know he’d been shot. “Just my dignity,” he muttered, clenching his jaw tight as the pain arched up his back.

She held her hand out to help him up and he waved her off. “Can’t. I was hit.” He wasn’t about to go into details, and if he could get out of there without the entire FBI team finding out, even better.

“What? Caffrey…” she sounded annoyed, but then he heard a sharp gasp as she crouched next to him. “Caffrey, were you shot-” she snickered, and he closed his eyes and wished for this day to be over, “-in the ass?” 

He opened his eyes and saw her clap her hand over her mouth. “Shit! I’m sorry, but jeez, Caffrey, that is some seriously bad luck.” She shook her head. “You always have to make a scene, don’t you?

“I wasn’t trying to,” he ground out, the pain blossoming and his head started feeling light. He resigned himself to the inevitable jokes and humiliation.

“Caffrey, I’ll give you an ‘A’ for effort, but I have to knock off points for the landing. Not your finest work,” Jones called out, jogging over. He stopped next to Diana. “You hurt yourself, man?”

“Our golden boy got himself shot in the ass as he tried to squeeze out the window,” Diana ever-so-bluntly explained, standing back up.

Jones let out a bark of laughter. “Seriously? Oh, that’s gotta hurt.” He knelt down in front of Neal. “Caffrey, I used to think you were the luckiest guy out there, but times like this…” he shook his head, “I’m just glad it’s you and not me.”

“Gee, thanks…” Neal replied dryly.

“Hey, think about it this way, Caffrey—you’ve earned yourself some time off work and a cushy new fashion accessory,” Diana said, and Neal didn’t have to look up to see the grin on her face.

“Oooh, that’s right. He'll want the cushion to color coordinate with his hat, knowing him," Jones added, chuckling. 

"Think they come in pinstripes?” Diana asked.

Neal growled. "Do you think you two could stop joking around and possibly call an ambulance?"

Jones patted his shoulder reassuringly. "Sure thing. Hang in there, Caffrey." He stood back up and walked away, his voice trailing off as he put in the call.

Sighing, Neal closed his eyes once more and tried to block out the pain. Diana's radio came to life, and he listened as she dealt with the team, thankfully not mentioning his situation. Apparently back-up had managed to round up their suspects in the warehouse, including one guy with a smoking gun—literally. It wasn’t much comfort knowing they had caught him, but Neal was happy nonetheless. 

He heard Peter's voice come over the radio, sounding upset, and Neal wondered what lecture he'd get this time. But then Peter said the magic words, _“The ambulance is five minutes out,”_ and Neal sighed in relief. He would worry about Peter later.

"You know Caffrey, I get that you think you're Houdini, but what possibly made you think you could fit through that window?"

"I'll let you answer that the next time you're running from gun-wielding thugs in a warehouse the size of two football fields," he replied tiredly. 

Diana bent back down next to him. "Fair enough.” There was a pause, and her voice softened, “You're not going to pass out on me, are you Caffrey?"

"I’d _like_ to," Neal muttered.

She laughed. "It's not like the movies, Caffrey. You can't just walk this off. The ambulance will be here soon and you'll be higher than a kite before you know it."

He chose not to respond, and instead just laid there, breathing slowly, waiting for this day to end, so he could go off to lick his wounds in private. But then he heard footsteps coming at him quickly, and he knew he wouldn't be so lucky.

"Neal?" Peter's voice rang out. 

Opening his eyes, Neal saw Peter jogging over, Jones by his side.

Peter slowed down and stopped just short of Neal's prone body. He quickly looked him over, and his eyes widened. "I thought you said it was just a flesh wound!"

Diana snickered again. "Oh, it's flesh alright. Granted, Caffrey doesn't have a lot of meat on him, but still, I don't think it hit anything important."

Neal's eyes flared, but Peter placed a hand on his shoulder and quelled Diana with a stern look. Turning back to him, Peter shot him a small smile. "How are you doing, Neal?"

"Been better," he rasped.

Peter nodded, then squeezed his hand. "Just hang in there, the ambulance should be here any minute now."

"Speaking of which, I need to get proof that Neal Caffrey is human," Diana added.

A moment later Neal heard the tell-tale click of a cell phone camera and sighed. There went any hope of keeping this from the entire office.

“Oh, _bother_.”

*****

“Why is it that every time Peter calls me, you’re either in trouble or need help? Just _once_ , I’d like a dinner invitation.” Sara dumped her purse on the chair next to the door and rested a hand on her hip as she took a good look at him.

“Is that supposed to make me feel jealous?” He was resting on his side, sore, embarrassed and slightly loopy at the drugs coursing through him.

Sara rolled her eyes and sat down on the chair closer to him. She crossed her legs and looked at him expectantly.

He sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been shot in the butt. How do you think I feel?" he couldn't help but snark, conscious of the fact that there was only a thin sheet protecting his offending backside from the world right now.

Sara, smartly, chose not to reply to that. Instead, she took a deep breath and calmly told him, “Peter says you have three choices—you stay with them, with me or in a prison hospital."

"He's a real comedian," he replied dryly.

"His puns are notorious," she agreed, laughing softly.

"Notoriously bad. I think I'll go with the second choice."

Sara smiled. "Yeah, that's what we thought you'd say. Apparently since I'm the only one who's seen your pasty ass, I'm the one who gets to change your bandages."

“Pasty?” His eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”

"Have you looked in a mirror lately?" she shot back.

He cringed and shook his head. That was the only upside to all of this—he _couldn’t_ see it. "Even if I could, I'll pass, thank you very much."

"Probably a wise decision,” she remarked wryly. “I'm not sure _I_ want to see it."

Neal frowned. "Hey! I thought you liked my ass." 

Sara shifted in her seat, adjusting her dress. "Oh I do, and it's a very cute ass.” He grinned. “But you have to admit, this isn't going to be pretty."

_That was an understatement, if he ever heard one._

"Still, I can’t believe you called my ass pasty,” he replied, with a small pout. “I've been in prison for four years. It's not like I've had the opportunity to go sunbathing in Monaco."

She raised an eyebrow. "Does that mean you've been sunbathing in Monaco before?" 

"Regretfully, no.” Neal paused, and a slow grin spread across his face. “Why, are you interested?"

"Possibly," she replied coyly, her eyes twinkling.

"I'll put it on my to-do list."

She opened her mouth for a second, then shook her head, and a bright smile stretched across her face. "You do that."

An awkward silence filled the room, and Neal had to wonder if she felt pressured into looking after him. It’s not like he would have expected her to, especially since both of them led very private lives. They had yet to see each other sick, much less have to take care of each other, hold back hair, or change bandages.

Neal knew it took a lot for her to step up and volunteer. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about being so vulnerable as to require her help with something this unglamorous.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said, and shrugged with his one shoulder. “I could always get Mozzie to help out.”

Sara snorted. “While I don’t want to think about Mozzie’s medical background or what he considers first aid, I think you’d probably rather have me than him.”

Neal grinned and quipped, “You do make a much prettier nurse.”

“I would hope so,” she replied tartly, then looked up at a tap on the door. Peter and Elizabeth walked in, carrying a vase of flowers.

“Oh Neal, sweetie!” Elizabeth quickly set down the flowers on the table next to the bed then leaned over and squeezed his hand. “How are you doing?”

“I’ll be fine, Elizabeth, don’t worry about me,” he smoothly replied, flashing her a bright smile, hoping to avoid the inevitable concern and mother-henning. Today had been embarrassing enough without bringing more attention to the uncomfortable reality of his injury. “Thank you for the flowers, they’re beautiful.”

Elizabeth frowned and looked like she was about to say something when there was another tap on the door.

“Knock, knock,” Jones called out, following Diana into the small room. He held the ribbon to a balloon with the colorful message of ‘Get Well Soon!’ “How’s our fallen comrade?”

“He’ll live, thanks,” Neal answered, eyeing Diana suspiciously. She was smiling wide, and her hands were conveniently hidden behind her back. "Diana..."

Chuckling, she brought her arms back around and revealed a small stuffed animal—Winnie the Pooh—to be precise.

Neal groaned.

Jones and Diana laughed, and she proudly turned Pooh around to show the band-aid on his bottom, smirking. That got everyone laughing, and Neal rolled his eyes. Diana quickly crossed the few feet between them and handed it to him. "There, he should keep you in good company."

"Diana, you shouldn't have," he replied, dryly, staring down at the smiling face of Pooh. Apparently, he hadn't been the only one to make the connection.

She grinned. "Oh, I did."

"Am I missing something?" Sara asked, glancing between Pooh and the wide grins on everybody’s face, with a confused look. 

Jones chortled and rubbed the back of his neck. Diana bit her lip, her eyes shining with silent laughter, causing Peter to sigh and roll his eyes. He stepped forward. "Neal was shot when he was attempting to squeeze through a small window. He, uh, got stuck."

Sara's eyebrows rose sharply. "I see... " She turned back to face Neal. "I suppose we should be thankful that you didn't get stuck in a honey tree after your daring escape?"

The room burst out into laughter and Neal closed his eyes in resignation. He really, _really_ , wanted this day to be over.

**Author's Note:**

> So, years ago, I got this funny idea. Basically inspired by Winnie the Pooh, as referenced in the fic. Here's a short clip of that scene.
> 
>  
> 
> [Winnie the Pooh and the Honey Tree](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UDm3NlSSJyg)


End file.
